


Backache

by vienn_peridot



Series: Angelus Primus [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angel!Ratchet, Primus is a meddling git, Wingfic, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 19:32:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3180554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienn_peridot/pseuds/vienn_peridot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet's back hurts.<br/>And it's not because he's getting old.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Backache

**Author's Note:**

> Title is 'creative'. Editing is crappy. It's late and I'm tired.

# Backache

Ratchet’s back ached.

It was happening far too often these days and made the notoriously grumpy medic  _much_ crankier than usual. Of course, not many on the Lost Light really noticed this. They hadn’t been crewed together long enough for them to be able to discern the… _nuances_ of the CMO’s public persona.

So far as Ratchet was concerned this was all to the good. Ever since he’d obeyed the internal prodding to come along on this disaster-prone ship full of lunatics his back had been giving him more trouble than he could ever remember it doing before. Sometimes the urge to break camouflage was so overwhelming it took everything he had to resist it.

No more useful voiceless proddings from his spark, though.

That was absolutely typical and completely fragging annoying.

So Ratchet endured and grumped and occasionally lashed out with a sarcastic comment that was more cutting than he intended.

However right now there was nobody in Medbay besides himself and the mechs in stasis. Safe from observation, Ratchet leaned his back up against the warmth of a CR tube and sighed happily as the heat soaked through his plating. It eased some of the strut-deep tension that was causing the nagging discomfort in his upper back.

This was only a temporary reprieve and wouldn’t last more than a breem from when he moved away from the CR Chamber, but it helped.

Right now he’d take what he could get.

As soon as his shift was officially over Ratchet was off like a shot, moving as fast as he could go without causing suspicion towards the safety of his quarters.

Several mechs tried to talk to him but Ratchet brushed them off and kept on walking. All he could focus on was getting back to the safety of his quarters and doing something about the pain that was now rolling viciously through his shoulderstruts.

The door to Ratchet’s habsuite had never looked more appealing; the click of it locking behind him was the sweetest sound in the universe.

A low groan of relief was covered by the sounds of transformation as Ratchet finally, _finally_ did the only thing that could ease this kind of pain.

The large red panel shielding his upper back split down the centre. The two pieces of metal shifted up and rotated outwards, forming armoured rerebraces which protected the delicate shoulder joints of a pair of large, pale wings which slowly emerged from their hiding place on Ratchet’s upper back.

The medic moaned happily as his extra limbs slowly unfolded from their restrictive camouflage. Thinly plated, featherlike slats of the wings with their incredibly dense web of sensors flexed slowly in the air of Ratchet’s habsuite as the medic revelled in this rare freedom of movement. The occasional twinge from a pinched line or worn spot didn’t undermine the sense of release in the slightest. Ratchet stretched his wings to full extension, holding for a few klicks to get the last few kinks out before he folded them at a more natural angle behind his frame.

Collapsing face-first on his berth, the medic contemplated the twists of fate which had brought him to this place as he enjoyed his temporary freedom. It felt indescribably good after the slowly increasing cramps and constant pain of the last few day cycles.

Grumbling into the padding of his berth, Ratchet waved his wings in an extremely rude gesture he’d learned from Seekers. He wondered _why_ out of _all_ the mecha Primus could have _possibly_ chosen, the creator of their species had decided to do this to _him_.

Acting on impulse, Ratchet sent a message to the annoying meddler who had sent him on this fools’ errand

 _Next time we’re face-to-face I’m going to have some_ serious _words with you_.

All he got in return was the impression of a laugh.


End file.
